


Jorts: A Combs Anthology

by WritersBlock92



Category: Ash vs Evil Dead (TV), Evil Dead (Movies), Felony (1994), Fortress (1993), Frightmare (1983), From Beyond (1986), Re-Animator (Movies), The Frighteners (1996)
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Drugs, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, PWP, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritersBlock92/pseuds/WritersBlock92
Summary: Just a place I put all the little things I write. Mostly Jeffrey Combs characters and works.
Relationships: Bobo/Stu, Herbert West/Ash Williams
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Tea won't fix you, but it'll balm the wound, won't it?

It was always tea. Tea had been their thing, when they’d both been alive. Milton had been drawn to Bill, in a strange way. Though, everything about Milton had been strange. His strangeness didn’t effect how much Bill cared about him. Milton had given so much to the FBI, he’d lost all the good parts of himself and all that remained were the leftover parts. Bill knew what that felt like. 

He supposed he was one of only a handful of people who’d been able to physically touch Milton after his return from what they had dubbed ‘The Incident’. Bill liked to think that their tea sessions had done Milton a lot of good. Now though… 

Bill shook his head. This wasn’t the time to curse the FBI heads who’d sent a thoroughly broken man into a madhouse. He picked up his thermos and finally stepped out of his car. The cemetery was quiet at this time of night. 

Soft snow crunched under his boots, leaving perfect indents behind in his wake. Bill shuddered, pulling his jacket closer around him. There was snow on his headstone. Bill tutted, diligently cleaning it off for him. It just wouldn’t do to have the headstone be dirty, would it? Milton deserved better. Though he supposed the man couldn’t do anything about it now. 

Was someone watching him? Bill’s FBI instincts kicked into high gear as the hair on the back of his neck tickled. 

No matter. He sat down with his back to the headstone, gritting his teeth through the cold. Between his legs, he carefully pulled out a pair of matching mugs. Just like the ones you find at Bethesda. They’d spent so much time there, hadn’t they? The hot tea warmed him up considerably, as he carefully emptied his thermos into the two mugs. 

“Chamomile with honey. I forgot you can’t drink it now.” He chuckled, finally looking up. Milton’s shimmering form blinked down at him. 

“Its okay.” 

Bill supposed it was the thought that mattered.


	2. Anxiety doesn't go away, but it can be soothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft D-Day/Crawford thing I wrote for a friend

Door opens, creaking floorboards, keys jingle, door closes. Even from his darkened cave-room, D-Day would know that cacophony of sounds anywhere. 

“Dee?”

There he is. He hesitates for a split second. He’s knee deep in code and really he’s on a roll here, but something in Crawford’s voice pulls him to his feet, keyboard abandoned on his desk. Carefully, he puts his joint out and steps out of their bedroom and into the dimmed hallway light. Their apartment was always a bit dark, lit mostly through dim yellow bulbs and tealights. When Crawford wasn’t home it was darkened even further with smoke and incense. 

“Hey, you’re home.” Crawford said, dropping his bag at his feet. He looked haggered. 

“been home all day,” He said, shrugging his jacket off and draping it carefully over his partner’s shoulders. “You good?” 

Crawford hesitated, eyes flicking guiltily between D-Day and the floor. That was all he needed. 

“Oh Crawfish. Come here.” He mumbled softly, pulling the other man toward their shared couch. “Lay down with me.”

Their living room was a mess of cardboard boxes as end tables, hand-me-down furniture, and plastic bags as trash cans. Their TV was a 20 year old model D-Day picked up off of a street corner that only got the free, local stations. D-Day sat down first, kicking his legs up onto the cushions. Crawford crawled in between his legs and collapsed. 

D-Day’s heart sunk as they got comfortable. Working with Praetorious always took it out of Crawford in a way no other job could. He wished the man would talk about it more. Dee’s eyes flicked toward the plate of old brownies on the ‘table’. Running yellow stained fingers through Crawford’s hair, he offered one. “Want something to calm you down?”

Silence. 

Then, “No, its okay. I’m okay.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just… this is nice. You’re nice.” 

D-Day didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.


	3. Just because you loved him, doesn't mean he was good for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashbert

"Sounds healthy." Ash chuckled. He had his feet propped up on Herbert's desk, just close enough to be annoying but not enough to actually keep him from working. Knowing he was getting on the smaller man's nerves brought him a jolt of joy. Herbert shot him a dirty look. 

They were talking about Daniel Cain, an ex-partner of Herbert's. He sounded like the type of guy Herbert would have steamrolled right over, pushing and manipulating him into doing whatever he wanted. You had to have a firm hand with Herbert. 

"You don't know what you're talking about." Touchy subject then. Ash made a mental note to stop bringing it up after this. He supposed you can't control how you feel about someone, healthy or not. It wasn't really Herbert's fault Daniel didn't have brass balls big enough to handle him like Ash does. Idly, Ash wondered if it was too soon to be bringing this up so frankly with the man, but ultimately brushed it aside. 

Herbert continued scribbling furiously in his notebook, documenting what work they'd done earlier on deadites and the serum. Ash wondered how close he was to a breakthrough. After all, they'd been together for months now, surely he'd have made progress. 

"Stop it." Herbert snapped, finally turning around to stare directly at him with that wild, wide-eyed look he was so prone to. Ash just laughed.  
"Stop what, *short stack?"* That line, while cute, certainly didn't help Herbert's mood. The smaller man pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows dramatically. "You look like a fish." Ash chuckled before taking a long gulp off of his beer, maintaining eye contact. He wondered how long Herbert could maintain that facial expression before his face started to hurt. Perhaps he had practice. 

Herbert didn't reply. The mood in the room had changed, just slightly. As if the smaller man was having trouble maintaining his sour mood. As Herbert's initial rage faltered and he started to turn back around to focus again on his work, Ash leaned forward to seize an opportunity. Just for a moment, he'd finally gotten Herbert to focus on his pain from Dan's betrayal instead of burying himself in his work. Perhaps... 

He put his free hand on Herbert's shoulder, quickly setting his beer down so that he could sit up and lean closer to his friend. Friend? 

"Hey, man, listen. You're better off without him." 

Blink. 

Blink. 

Nothing. 

"Come on man, you know I don't do this sappy shit. Give me something here." Ash said, finally breaking. 

Herbert slowly, carefully, like a frightened animal, covered Ash's hand with his own. Then, barely above a whisper, "Thank you."


	4. Sometimes, healthy choices hurt quite a bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Dan has a very vivid panic attack

"What about the WORK, Daniel?" To give him credit, Herbert looked genuinely hurt. It was maybe the first time Dan had ever seen him despondent. His breath was caught in his throat, choking his words and seizing his chest. His brow furrowed, creasing his skin. His mouth hung open just *slightly.* A lifetime ago, Dan might have caved. Panic and fear of loneliness and retribution might have taken him over and begged forgiveness from Herbert for the sin of individuality and singular thought. 

Dan took a deep breath. He held his hands out in front of him, bracing for impacts both emotional and physical. He wasn't sure which reaction would be worse, the manipulation or the physical abuse. Herbert West had never hit him. He was, however, a cold blooded killer. 

"I need you to leave." Dan Cain was still relatively calm, considering. Herbert hadn't moved. The smaller man shook his head, as if he couldn't comprehend Dan's words. 

"No, no, Daniel there's still so much work to do. The serum isn't finished, the creations aren't intelligent they-" Dan had known he'd argue and complain and push. He knew how manipulative Herbert could be. But he knew these things only intellectually. Handling them in the moment, when he was just barely able to breathe was a different story. 

"You ruined my life with your precious work, Herbert!" 

Silence. 

Panic had fully seized Dan now, closing in around him as he faced his worse fear head on. Tears spilled over onto his cheeks, heating his face and salting his lips. He was beginning to hyperventilate. 

Herbert stepped forward confidently, ready to step in and play "caretaker" just long enough to get Dan to follow his stupid plans like he always did. 

Dan snapped.   
"Get out." 

Herbert stopped, freezing in place.

"Get out! Get out and take all of your precious WORK with you!" 

Dan hit the floor, sinking to his knees as Herbert's footsteps receded into the deep bowels of the house. Tears burred his vision. His heart beat through his chest cavity. He was shaking violently. Panic had seized him fully as he lay there on the wooden floorboards of their shared home. His home. Meg's home.

Dan laid there for a long, long while, repeating the previous interaction over and over again in his head. He isn't sure when Herbert left. When his breath had finally caught up with him and he could convince himself to move again, Dan Cain crawled across his floor and into his bathroom. 

A shower. He needed a shower. 

Leaning over the edge of the tub, he turned the knobs to the hottest setting he could feasibly handle and began slowly stripping his clothes from his still shaking body. 

Deep breaths, Dan. It's okay. You're okay. 

He's gone. 

Crawling over the wall of the tub and into the hot, constant spray of the water, Dan took one long breath and then wailed. 

It was over. 

It was over and Herbert was gone. 

Now he could begin to heal.


	5. Soft Hours in the Dead of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortstack 2.0. Ash Williams needs to stop smoking in bed.

Herbert's body was a soft, pillowed line against him in the night, curled around a blanket, facing away from him. He was pushed as close to Ash's bare chest as he could be while still being curled up into a ball. In his sleep, Herbert West was a softer man. 

Ash had resigned himself to spending the long night awake hours ago, sometime after his nightmares had begun setting in. He was more inclined to lay awake and attempt to get high anyway. How strange his life had become, banding together with neo-Frankenstein to end the Deadite invasion. Stranger still that he'd ended up sleeping with the odd little man. He tightened his arm over Herbert's body, suddenly wishing he had a stiff drink. 

Getting a drink would almost certainly wake his sleeping mad scientist, so perhaps not. Suddenly awoken Herbert West was never anyone's idea of a good time. 

He deserved the sleep anyway. As difficult as he could be, Herbert had a tendency to push his work over his own health. Over the last week and a half, they'd spent more time asleep on work tables and lazy boy's respectively. Herbert had ruined many of his hand written notes by drooling on them as of late. 

They were so close to a breakthrough, both on the Deadite invasion and on Herbert's personal "projects". Ash had been running recon missions well into the night looking for information and attempting to take out some dangerous people, so... he supposed that he couldn't fault the other man. He'd rather not admit to worrying anyway. 

Ash idly began running his thumb across the chest hair just under Herbert's belly button, skating just across his hip bones. He wondered if he could reach a joint from here without waking his sleeping partner. Ash let his eyes flick to the end table by Herbert's head where his ashtray and lighter sat, next to his empty whisky glass. 

Letting his eyes flick between Herbert's relaxed face and the end table, Ash took a deep breath. He could totally do it. 'Stealthy, Ash. Stealthy.' He thought, reaching carefully over Herbert's head. He had to squeeze the smaller man into the mattress, pushing his face slightly into the comforter. 'Carefully, carefully.' He thought to himself. Its _just_ out of his reach. He reaches a little harder, determined.

Finally his fingers close on his prize. 

'Oh thank god' He thought, flopping back onto his side. 

Ash's cheap gas station lighter makes a distinct _click_ noise as he lights his joint between his fingers. He needed this. Herbert's sleeping form shuddered as Ash got comfortable again, settling his face in the crook of his neck, savoring the warmth of his skin in the cold night air. Their cheap trailer didn't have any kind of heater and Herbert had deigned to steal all of their blankets, leaving Ash out in the cold. Goosebumps ran all the way up his skin. 

"Must you do that now?" Herbert's voice burned at him almost as badly as the drug between his lips. Ash smiled anyway.

"Wake ya? Whoops. Sorry, Short-stack." He said, chuckling sheepishly. 

Herbert turned to face him, glaring witheringly at him. "The smoke burns my eyes, Ashley."

Ash waits a beat, puffing on his smoke, for Herbert to move away from him, but he doesn't. For a second, the two of them play this game of chicken, Ash's defiant smirk versus Herbert's withering glare. He should probably put the joint out. 

Finally, after a heartbeat, Herbert rolled his eyes. Victory for Ash, then.

The smaller man shuffled forward, burying his face in Ash's chest, tightening his arms around his middle like a vice. Ash chuckled, smirking only because he knew Herbert couldn't see it. He moved to get comfortable with his new leech, wrapping his free hand around Herbert's back and resting his joint hand on the back of his neck. He took another long hit. 

"Go back to sleep, Short-stack."

"Don't call me Short-stack."


End file.
